“Hey,” she said, her nostrils flaring with anger. “It’s called nervous laughter, you jackass. I laugh when I’m uncomfortable. So sue me. And here’s a thought: Since we’re stuck in here together, how about you try not being such a jerk for five minutes?”
He said nothing, just continued to hammer on the buzzer.
After about twenty minutes of his endless pushing on the buzzer, she wanted to cover her ears and tell him to knock it off. But that would be stupid, of course. If someone heard the buzzer, they could get out of here. And yet . . . no one was coming. The power was still off. She clicked on her phone, looking at the time and trying to ignore the fact that her battery was almost dead.
They’d been in here an hour. The buses would still be outside, surely. With all that rain, it would take a while to pull off any kind of evacuation. The elevator was becoming stuffy, too. Either that or she was just in the early stages of hyperventilation. She put a hand to her damp forehead and willed herself to breathe slowly. This would be a lot easier if she wasn’t trapped with the unpleasant manager. No wonder the hotel was such a dump if he was in charge.
“Shouldn’t someone come looking for you soon?” she asked. Surely they’d need the manager to help coordinate the evacuation.
“You would think so.”
No sarcasm that time. Well, goody. They were making progress. Brontë dug through her purse and pulled out a piece of gum, popping it into her mouth and nervously chewing it. Every action in the oppressive darkness seemed of monumental importance. She picked through the contents of her purse with her hand, looking for anything useful. A pen. Her checkbook. Passport. Wallet. Loose change. Birth control. When her hand touched upon that, she smothered another hysterical laugh.
She heard him sigh at her laughter. He sounded frustrated. Too bad for him—she was at her wit’s end herself. But she needed to talk, so she asked, “Think the buses are still outside?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
Jeez. Could he be any ruder? “Aren’t you supposed to be good with customer service or something? You seem to be failing on that front.”
He seemed amused. “Am I?”
“Yeah, as a manager, you might want to work on your people skills. I’m just saying.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” the dry voice said.
She yawned. Now that the initial terror had worn off, she was busy being annoyed at him and not frightened. Combine that with the rising humidity, and she was getting sleepy. “I think we’re stuck here.”
“Theoretically.”
“I assume the buses left by now.”
“You also assume I was going to leave by bus.”
“Oh? I guess you have special transportation to take you away before the hurricane gets here?”
Silence for a moment. Then: “A helicopter.”
Well, wasn’t he high-class management? “Okay, let’s try this again. Do you think your helicopter is still there?”
A long pause. Then he grudgingly admitted, “Not if the weather is getting worse.”
“You might have to ride the bus with us plebes, then.” She lay down on the floor, using her purse as a pillow. “‘As the builders say, the larger stones do not lie well without the lesser.’”
“More philosophy?”
“Just a little something to think about,” she said tartly.
“Indeed,” he said slowly, and she noticed he had let off on the infernal buzzer. Maybe he was giving up. She sure was. After a moment, he asked, “Will anyone be looking for you?”